Paper Alice (10 page)

He looked at me sharply, and we both laughed. But not before I'd seen a flash of something else in his eyes. Something strange, that stayed with me for quite a while. And not in a nice way at all.

You know how it is once you start bumping into someone . . .

Sure enough, a couple of days later I was sitting in a philosophy lecture, only half listening, hatching diagonal lines across the top of my notes, when there was a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see a folded bit of paper being held out to me by the girl behind.

‘From some guy back there, apparently,' she murmured, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

I stared stupidly at it, then glanced up beyond her at the sea of faces. Couldn't see anyone I knew. She jerked
it impatiently; I took it, said thanks, and turned back to the front.

It was a piece of torn-off notebook, addressed to
Alice
in vertical, spiky writing on the front.

I stared at it, my heart starting to quicken. The only boys I was even vaguely acquainted with in this lecture were a few guys from my tute, but none of them was the note-writing type.

My suspicions were confirmed as soon as I read the message inside:

Rescued any nice shoes lately?

I gave a little snort of laughter. A girl next to me glanced at me and then down at the note. I bit my lip and hunched over it.

There was another sentence, written in smaller letters at the bottom.
Hey – sorry if I embarrassed you the other day . . .

I sat there, very still, staring at it. Wondering if his eyes were on me, right at this moment.

I folded it up and stuck it in my notepad. Then tried peering over my shoulder without turning my head too much, which, of course was impossible. No way was I going to twist right around.

So I gave up and sat there, staring blankly at the lecturer. Watching his mouth opening and shutting and his texta pointing at jottings on the whiteboard. It was as though I'd gone deaf; the only things I could hear were my own thoughts jangling around in my head like loose coins in a clothes dryer.

Had Andy been coming to this lecture all along? I certainly didn't flatter myself that he'd have followed me in there just to tease me. But why hadn't I seen him before?

Because there were about three hundred students in there, that was why. I wouldn't have noticed him out of the blue . . . would I?

Was he sitting on his own? Perhaps he was with his girlfriend – Lily, or even that announcer guy. Oh please, I thought, not him!

I suddenly felt a wave of panic. The lecture was nearly over; there was no escape. It was like waiting to be called up to make a speech at school. I'd have to say hello. I'd probably say something stupid; sound like a dork . . .

And not only sound like a dork! I'd pushed the snooze button that morning as usual and gone back to sleep, and then leapt up at the last minute and thrown on what happened to be lying on the floor. My most ancient jeans, the saggy ones with a split in the bum, and the old green hoodie I normally only wear jogging. My hair was greasy, and as for any make-up . . . There hadn't been time for even a lick of lip gloss.

Now it
was
finishing. The lecturer was gathering his notes, people around me were putting their books in their bags and standing up, chatting to the people near them, moving out . . .

My neighbour – the nosy one who'd tried to read over my shoulder – wanted to get going, so I had to move. I started shuffling along in front of her, arms around my books. As I merged with the crush of people in the aisle I edged towards the far side, keeping my head down.

I told myself to get a grip. What on earth was wrong with me – why was I scared? He was just some smart arse enjoying a bit of sport. What did it matter? For god's sake, shouted Sensible Alice, chill!

About three more steps up, and there he was. An odd little half smile on his lips, eyes with their usual glint. I made a weird face back at him – a half-disapproving, teacherish kind of look.

He fell in beside me; we shuffled to the exit doors in silence, me thinking desperately of something intelligent to say. But once out in the foyer, we turned to one another, both at once.

‘So,' I said, ‘you do philos–'

‘Hey,' he said at the same time, ‘sorry if–'

We stopped, laughing.

‘No,' he said, answering my question first, ‘I just followed you into the lecture to give you a hard time.'

I stared at him. Apart from the eyes, his expression was deadpan.

‘Oh,' I said, laughing uncertainly. ‘You didn't . . . Did you?'

Then felt like the world's greatest ditz when he replied, ‘No, I am actually enrolled in Philosophy 1010. Though this is the first lecture I've been to,' he added cheerfully.

He certainly wouldn't, I thought, be great on lecture attendance. Too much else going on in his life.

‘Anyway,' he went on, ‘what I started to say was: sorry if I've been harrassing you. I didn't mean to–'

‘Oh,' I said again, my breath getting caught up in another little laugh. I swallowed. ‘You haven't–'

‘And in front of your
boyfriend
too.'

Once again, I couldn't really make out if he was joking or serious.

‘Oh,' I repeated. Was that all I could start with? ‘He's–'

Then I stopped dead, hardly believing the words I'd been about to blurt.

He's not my boyfriend . . .

He was looking at me quizzically; I could feel myself starting to go pink with shame.

‘Shock horror!' I mumbled finally.

Silence, mercifully broken by someone else's arrival.

‘Mead!' The guy had spiky hair and a sharp, pointy face. He gave Andy a pat on the back. ‘Great performance the other night, dude – congrats!'

Then he looked at me. I felt a small lurch of alarm.

‘Hey!' he grinned. A slightly vague, know-you-but-can't-remember-from-where kind of grin. ‘How's it goin'?'

‘Hey,' I mumbled, dropping my gaze.

But he'd turned back to Andy. ‘Listen, if you want a hand with the revue – flyers, or props or whatever, give us a yell.'

‘Thanks, man,' said Andy. ‘That'd be good, 'specially towards the end.'

And now the other guy was turning to me once more and staring at me with a little smile, head on one side.

‘Where have I met –' he started, as I stared back at him, frozen – waiting for the penny to drop.

But Andy was suddenly glancing at his watch. ‘Hey,' he said, ‘is that the time?' He turned to me; our eyes met. ‘Isn't that meeting at three?'

‘Oh . . .' My brain was three steps behind. ‘Oh, yeah,' I said finally, stupidly.

He'd taken hold of my elbow.

‘Better not be late for it. Funding stuff – getting a grant for the play,' he told the other boy. ‘Be in touch. Thanks!'

‘Catch y–' I heard the other boy start, but we were already off, marching towards the glass doors.

‘Keep going,' he muttered, ‘gotta get to that meeting!'

We didn't stop until we were outside and round a corner, by which stage I was giggling helplessly.

We turned to one another, him laughing as well.

‘Pull yourself together,' he said. ‘We'll never get those funds if you can't be serious!'

That set me off again. I subsided onto an empty bench; he sat down beside me.

‘Anyway,' I said eventually, taking a deep breath, ‘thanks for saving me.'

He grinned. ‘I owed you.' He leant forward, elbows on his knees, looking at me sideways. ‘I've been feeling guilty about it ever since.'

I made a face.

‘I really felt like killing you!'

He laughed. ‘Yeah, well . . .'

Another pause.

‘Anyway,' he said, ‘how
is
the lovely Wilda?'

I froze. ‘Why?' I asked after a moment, struggling to keep the paranoia out of my voice. ‘Have you met her?'

There was an odd light in his eyes. ‘No,' he said, ‘but . . . she's just like you, isn't she?'

Suddenly I was floundering again, trying to get out of that mire. ‘W—who says so?'

‘Spiro.' Seeing my blank look he added, ‘Spiro – the guy running things at the Cave the other night.'

‘Oh . . .'

‘She's your sister, isn't she? Are you twins?'

I stared at him, a strange twist of fear going through me again.

‘No,' I cried, ‘we're–'

‘
Boo!
' came a voice from right behind. I gave a cry of fright; we both swung round.

There was Milly, leaning along the back of the bench. Grinning from Andy to me and back again.

‘What's this,' she laughed, ‘a secret assignation or something?'

Milly
–

‘Hardly!' I clapped my hands to my cheeks. ‘God, Mill, you scared me!'

‘So I see!'

I ignored this. ‘Anyway,' I asked, ‘what you up to?'

‘I was looking,' she said, ‘for you actually. Remember – you were coming back with me this arvo – to my place?'

‘Oh – that's right . . .'

I'd completely forgotten I'd agreed to catch the bus home with her – to help her decide what she was going to wear to the Arts Ball that Saturday.

‘But,' she said, glancing at Andy and me again, ‘we can make it some other time–'

‘Oh, no,' I said quickly, ‘it's fine!' I stood up, grabbing my books, clutching them to my chest. ‘We'll go now.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes!' I cried, glaring at her. I turned to Andy, who had also stood up.

‘Well – see ya . . .'

‘Yeah, by-ee!' added Milly, giving him one of her megawatt smiles.

‘Ciao,' he said.

I paused for a fraction, suddenly wanting to wish him good luck with the revue, but by then the moment had passed. So I turned and walked stiffly away down the path with Milly, feeling his gaze on our backs. Hoping the split in my jeans didn't show.

‘Well,' smiled Milly, when we were barely out of earshot, ‘you don't have to tell me
anything
–'

‘
Ssshh!
' I hissed, frowning down at my books. ‘Shut
up
. . .'

But Milly wouldn't, of course, not for long. So I finally ended up filling her in on the whole Wilda saga – the photo, including the outfit and the bag, the guy Spiro in the pub, and then that awful night in the Cave.

‘So that's why he – Andy – came up to me after the lecture,' I finished, as we turned out of the uni gates. ‘To apologise for giving me such a hard time.'

A bus was coming along Parramatta Road; we crossed the footpath to the kerb.

‘I can't believe you haven't
told
me any of this!' cried Milly, as it slowed and ground to a halt. The doors hissed and clunked open. ‘It all sounds so . . . weird.'

I rolled my eyes as we stepped on board, fishing for our wallets. ‘Tell me about it!'

There were no seats left side by side. Milly took an aisle spot and I sat right behind her, next to a hugely fat woman clutching a large bag. Or rather, I perched on what tiny space was left, half my bum off the seat, hanging onto the rail in front. I leant forward to Milly.

‘I s'pose I haven't mentioned it,' I went on, raising my voice above the growl of the bus, ‘'cause . . . I somehow just thought it would all . . . fade away. I didn't want to have to think about it too much.'

Milly was silent for a moment, her head back towards me.

‘But Al,' she said, ‘if you look at it objectively, it's no big deal, is it, really? I
mean
– this chick looks like you; so what? And as you said yourself, it was pretty dark
both times that guy mistook you – you probably don't look
that
much alike! Anyway,' she added, twisting round further so that her knees stuck out in the aisle, ‘it's kind of fun – intriguing, really, to have a doppelganger–'

‘A what?'

‘A doppelganger! You know – a twin, walking about in your shadow.'

My breath caught in my throat.

‘We should look it up,' she went on. ‘I bet there's a whole lot of stuff about it on the web. And movies, too . . .'

‘Mmm.'

Milly was leaning closer, her eyes narrowing dramatically. ‘Sometimes,' she hissed, ‘they can turn out to be
evil
!'

‘Oh, don't tell me
that
!'

My hand was suddenly gripped so tight around the rail that my nails were digging into my palm.

‘Well, what about this one then?'

Milly held up a rolled-neck top in scarlet whatever, shot through with threads of gold. Vintage 60s, by the look of it.

‘Try it on.'

Milly hauled off the off-the-shoulders black number she was wearing and dropped it on top of all the other discarded garments. She burrowed her head and arms into the next one, pulled it down and struck a pose, holding out her arms from her sides.

‘That looks great!' I said. The dramatic scarlet really suited her black hair. I twirled a finger. ‘Turn around.'

There was a small split in the back seam.

‘I didn't see that when I tried it on,' she cried, annoyed. ‘They shouldn't sell it like that!'

‘They wouldn't have seen it.' I stood up and went and tweaked the split together. ‘Somebody too big for it probably tried it on. Anyway, it can be easily stitched up.'

Apart from her fetish for shoes, Milly's the queen of Vinnies. Except that half the stuff she gets from there she never even gets round to wearing, she's got so much of it. If you ever want to borrow something to wear for a special occasion, Milly's your girl. She could almost start a costume shop – it'd certainly be one way of getting back some of the money she's spent.

Most of which is courtesy of her dad. Even though she says she doesn't like him, or his new wife, she's quite happy to take the large cheques he sends her every birthday and Christmas. Last Christmas' effort was four hundred dollars. I don't think she makes a thing of the big amounts to her mum, since Gillian's always going on about how his child support payments are late, or not enough.